The days slipped by swiftly as Cyrus adhered to his rigorous schedule. He rarely ventured beyond the manor's confines, more opting to spend his hours training with the nand or delving deeper into Avalorn's culture and geography. And any free moments were devoted to honing his mana manipulation, gradually shaping the flames with incremental progress in crafting more fire runes despite the results being minimal at best and nonexistent at worst.

In the meantime, his interactions with others were limited. While he often exchanged pleasantries with the staff and the Dílis Family. But they were just that—pleasantries.

There was only so much time in one's day to squeeze everything in, and Cyrus felt increasingly suffocated ever since the incident. Still, he took the time to recount more stories to Bird whenever the canary cried for attention.

Meanwhile, Dílis noticed his behavior and tried to speak with him. But any attempt was detoured by masked politeness and subject changes. Thus life remained thankfully quiet.

Thirteen days had passed since Cyrus met Latriaen. Sweating and red-faced, a heaving Cyrus, spear in hand, stood in a small arena. In front of him towered Yogi. It had reverted from its rather cuddly shape and reformed into its ape-bear hybrid form. It bared its wooden yet sharp teeth.

With a roar reverberating throughout the backyard, it pummeled its chest. The next moment, it bulldozed toward the budding Wayfarer initiate, intending to run over Cyrus and end the battle in a single slam that would launch the boy across the arena.

But as Yogi was a cyclone, Cyrus was as still as ice. Or at least tried to be. Gaze slightly flickering, he remained still as if frozen by the oncoming natural disaster before him. Yet the green flicker in his gaze said otherwise.

Time momentarily stilled, offering Cyrus just enough forethought and leeway to barely dodge to the side as he flipped his spear arm backward and held onto it with all his might. As the wooden beast passed, the blade hung close to it, sliding across the bark and leaving a thin but long scratch across Yogi's torso.

Success. Real damage.

Frankly, even with his workout sessions and training, Cyrus could still not leave a lasting mark on the wooden bear. But eventually, he wondered, why not use its power against him? And the simple cut that was merely centimeters deep was the fruit of his labor.

But the battle wasn't over yet as Yogi roared in response. Incensed, it turned around, raising its ape-like arms overhead to slam downwards. Already expecting this, Cyrus moved backward, narrowly avoiding the crushing force as he, in turn, lunged his spear forward, aiming for the Yogi's head. Now was the time to strike at its head with all his might.

...Yet his muscles tensed. A momentary still image of a burning corpse compelled him to redirect his spear toward the nandi's chest. And that was enough for any seasoned warrior to shake their head in disapointment.

And again, like always, the speartip bounced off on that bark skin. But the sight washed over them like a waterfall as the two slumped their shoulders in infinite weakness.

For a moment, they stilled by it as if their battle was just a farce, energy draining between the two before they suddenly broke out into another round of attacks. Yogi, ever persistent yet slow, tried to crush Cyrus. Simultaneously. Cyrus remained quick and nimble, attempting to attack its weak joints and 'soft' limbs. With this in mind, the two fell into a familiar fight, almost routine. But all things need to come to an end.

"That's enough practice for now," Declared a voice from beyond the arena. It was Lord Dílis.

Yogi grumbled. It then transformed back into its mossy, soft form, trotted toward the sea of white lilies, and reclined onto the ground. A moment later, Bird landed on top of its head and joined in its rest.

Meanwhile, Cyrus turned to face the approaching figure. He rested his heart over his chest and respectfully greeted the lord, who nodded in kind.

"Well done, Cyrus," Lord Dílis began, his sharp, scrutinizing gaze swept over the young mage. "You've shown remarkable improvement." He began his stride over to Cyrus, a faint, friendly smile tugging his lips. "It appears that Yogi has taught you well."

"Thank you, Lord Dílis." Cyrus' words were cordial and polite. "I owe much of my progress to your guidance."

And yet, Cyrus felt a hollow sensation in his chest. Tonight was to be a special night. A night forever remembered for the rest of his life. Now ruined because of that night. And the thought brought Cyrus to tighten his grip on his spear.

What an awful day.

Lord Dílis nodded in acknowledgment without a change in expression. "Shall we try something new today? It could prove beneficial for your training. What say you?"

Cyrus arched his brows but swept his messy, sweat-soaked hair from his steel blues. "Alright."

A wider smile spread across the grandmaster as he produced a tiny seed. Before Cyrus' eyes, the seed began to sprout and grow and grow. Its bark sharpened and stretched until it shaped into a wooden rapier that perfectly matched his grip. What a sight.

"A friendly duel can often reveal more about oneself," Lord Dílis said, flicking his rapier with a graceful flourish that easily sliced through the air, then pointing at Cyrus. "Feel free to employ any means to secure victory, including your powers, Cyrus. I shall remain to my blade."

Cyrus remained silent. He couldn't quite place it, but he felt a sudden change in the lord's demeanor. But that didn't stop him from assuming an offensive stance and launching the first strike.

The spear shot like an arrow towards the rapier. It was a test to determine the strengths of the two. And Lord Dílis did not disappoint. He redirected the spear's trajectory downward with a deft flick, causing it to crash harmlessly into the grass.

Frowning, Cyrus stepped back to reset his stance, which Lord Dílis allowed him to.

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"Do you know why you weren't provided with a shield to accompany your spear, Cyrus?" Dílis questioned, catching Cyrus off guard. "A shield would complement a spear quite well."

Cyrus frowned, gripping his spear tight. "Because I'll need a free hand to cast fire?"

Lord Dílis nodded but then shook his head. "Well, that's only true for now. But when you have enough runes to line your entire body, you will notice how silly you believed such a notion." Observing Cyrus' confused frown, Dílis then chuckled. "The main thing about fighting is that people tend to focus on where they are looking, and a shield enforces the idea. You look toward your shield and focus on what you're blocking. I've seen it, oh so enough that I feel the need to explain it now."

"So you're saying that I need to be more aware of my surroundings?"

"Quite so, Cyrus. For example, look behind yourself."

Cyrus arched his brows and turned his head, only to be immediately slapped on the cheek by a long vine, sending him stumbling a few steps away.

"Hey!" Cyrus rubbed the red mark on his cheek. "I thought you said you wouldn't use your powers."

"Come now, Cyrus. I lied." Lord Dílis laughed at Cyrus' incredulity. "Nothing in the real world will hold back in a fight. So why should I? You were even distracted by my blathering." And with that, Lord Dílis assumed a defensive stance, his voice commanding. "Now, attack me with all you have."

Those words didn't particularly inspire Cyrus, but he readied himself all the same.

I'm sure he's just going to deflect everything.

With his right arm pulsing with mana and fiery runes alight, Cyrus charged forward. He thrust his spear, aiming to draw Dílis' attention, but the lord effortlessly sidestepped the attack.

Yet Cyrus didn't stop. With his left palm flaming, he struck forward and launched a red flame burst, empowered by his new accumulation of runes. Yes, deep down, Cyrus knew such an attack would be useless to the 'man' before him. It was the only reason he allowed himself to cast flame.

Before the flames struck, a wooden wall sprang forth from the ground and halted it in its tracks. Taken aback, Cyrus quickly recovered by moving forward as flames continued shooting from his palm. He intended to reach toward the edge and launch a spear attack, but as he arrived on the other side, Cyrus soon found himself face to face with Lord Dílis' smiling countenance and his rapier's tip aimed directly at his shoulder.

There was no time to dodge. With a burst of speed, Cyrus angled his spear to intercept the blade. He had intended to use enough force to still the rapier before exploiting an opportunity by maneuvering it down its length to strike the grandmaster.

In essence, it was an ant using an elephant's strength against it. But Lord Dílis saw through this. As the two weapons struck, he shifted his blade alongside the spear, and Cyrus found himself off-balanced by his own momentum. What followed was a light punch to his sternum—well, what the late Lord Dílis constituted as a 'light punch' as the impact knocked Cyrus a few steps back and left him breathless. Chest heaving, he silently stared into his opponent's sharp gaze.

"Not bad," Lord Dílis remarked, approaching Cyrus with measured steps. "You've taken the initiative to plan for victory. Keep that in your mind for the future."

There were no words to follow. Instead, Cyrus gathered his mana and summoned forth another burst of fire.

Either he will use another wall or move to the side, then I strike.

Cyrus focused intently, anticipating the grandmaster's next move. Yet, to his surprise, he watched Lord Dílis allow the flames to engulf him.

Is he just standing there and taking the fire? Cyrus couldn't help but twitch his lips, feeling a flicker of frustration.

Was Lord Dílis demonstrating his might? Then, what was the point of asking him to use his abilities? Cyrus might as well just forgo his attacks and give u—Cyrus felt a tap on his shoulder.

He abruptly turned off his pyromancy and whirled around, freezing at the sight of The Dúndraíocht standing before him with a calm smile.

"How did you get behind me?" Cyrus blurted out, his mind racing.

Does he have a similar ability to... her darkness melding?

Lord Dílis responded by raising an eyebrow and gesturing upward. "I jumped over you."

"Oh." Cyrus slumped his shoulders, weakness overtaking him.

Observing Cyrus' reaction, Lord Dílis couldn't help but chuckle. "Come now, Cyrus. You best ingrate the notion of 'expect the unexpected.' "

And with that, the battle continued. But as time went on, it became more and more apparent that Cyrus would never land a strike on The Steward. It was as if he weren't facing a man but a mountain. And if Lord Dílis was a mountain, then what was it? His heart clutched tighter and tighter. Was it always to be like this?

Such thoughts drowned his mind. So, somewhere down the line, Cyrus forgot that this was training for his benefit.

This is getting nowhere. Growing frustrated, Cyrus gritted his teeth. I'll try one last move to get this over with.

Mana channeled through his runes; Cyrus' gaze then turned bright with blinding radiance as he pulled back his arm like an Olympic javelin thrower.

And then Cyrus threw the fight.

The sudden brilliance illuminated the lord's features in an attempt to blind him. However, Cyrus' heart leaped to his throat once he caught a glimpse of the frown etched on Lord Dílis' face despite the spear boring toward him.

Without so much as a struggle, Lord Dílis seized the spear with inhuman speed. His gaze then fell onto Cyrus as though an invisible waterfall had crashed down onto him, forcing the latter to stumble forward and crash face-first into the ground with mouthfuls of grass and dirt. Watching Cyrus fall, Lord Dílis' expression hardened, increasing the invisible pressure. Slowly, he walked over to the struggling man and knelt before him.

"Why did you give up?" Lord Dílis whispered, disappointment spilling like a waterfall.

Those words stirred emotions within Cyrus—anger and helplessness. Chest heaving, he silently clutched onto the grass and dirt, tearing a few strands. The silence stretched between them until Cyrus managed to regain his composure.

"It felt hopeless," Cyrus finally admitted through gritted teeth.

Silence. Lord Dílis maintained a stoic expression as he observed Cyrus raising his head from the dirt to face him. The Steward had not once expressed such emotions in the past weeks Cyrus had lived here, only when in connection with the Theatrum Umbrea. So, Cyrus wasn't prepared for the cold finality in his voice.

"If you're going to surrender to adversity so easily, then you're not good enough to be a Wayfarer."

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